Sunrise
by sinverguenza
Summary: A series of vignettes from Peter and Claire's early relationship. This is a friendship fic that will most likely become more.  PeterClaire, fluffy like a puppy.
1. Part One

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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There had been big changes in Peter's life in the past year. He'd gained superpowers, lost a girlfriend, exploded, nearly killed his brother, and saved a cheerleader who ended up being his niece.

But now things were settling down, the wheel was turning back to a slower pace for Peter. He was back doing what he still thought he did best. The best way to help people that he knew of.

Peter leaned his head back onto the seat of the cab. He was tired, completely drained from his flight from Detroit that afternoon. Five days at a gerontology convention. Peter rubbed his eyes. He looked forward to closing the blinds at his place and sleeping for a couple days.

Just as he was nodding off, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He sighed and held it to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Peter?" wobbled a voice in his ear.

Peter sat up. "Claire? Are you okay?"

"Yes." Claire sniffed loudly.

"What's wrong?" When she did not immediately answer, he pressed again. "Claire, are you there? Where are you?"

"I'm in New Jersey." Claire sniffed again. "I'm so stupid, Peter, I've done the stupidest thing."

"What's going on?" Peter felt panic rising in his chest, and he tried to fight it.

"I took Nathan's car…his _fun_ car," said Claire into the phone. "And I can't get it to start now."

"But you're okay?"

"Of course I am," said Claire sadly. Peter breathed a sigh of relief. Funny that he still worried about that, even though she couldn't be hurt. Not physically at least.

"Peter, he doesn't know I took the car."

Of course he didn't. Peter knew very well what Nathan's _fun_ car was – a '75 Porsche 914, bright red. He'd never let Claire take it anywhere. Nathan washed that thing by hand, if that was any sort of indicator as to his level of dedication to it.

Peter sighed. "Where exactly are you?"

"I don't know, I don't know," said Claire. "In New Jersey!"

"Hey. Okay, calm down. I need to know where you are, so I can come get you."

"How do I find out where I am?" Claire sounded panicked.

Peter tried not to laugh. "Look on the street by you, okay?"

Claire's cell phone crackled and he could hear the click of her shoes on the pavement. "I'm in a church parking lot…the sign says Avondale Church of Christ."

"Avondale is in Nutley. That's close. Hold on."

"Are you back here?" asked Claire. "I thought you might still be in Detroit."

"Nope, you've got great timing. Hold on." Peter spoke to the cabby. "Hey, change of plans."

-----

Lucky for Claire that it was a Saturday, and the traffic was light. It took Peter about twenty minutes before he pulled up to a tiny brownstone church with a very conspicuous car sitting alone in the parking lot.

Leaning against the car was a worried-looking blonde girl in jeans and a thin sweater that covered her hands.

She didn't see Peter get out as she was looking in the wrong direction. He slammed the door shut, and she turned. "You shouldn't bite your nails," said Peter jokingly.

"Peter!" She ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck. "I am _so_ glad you're here."

Peter hugged her back. "You delinquent." He looked down at her face and wiped a tear off of her chin.

"I know. I screwed up big time, " said Claire, and she was still holding onto him.

"Nathan will kill you if he knows you took his car. And he'll probably know," said Peter, finally stepping away from her.

Claire frowned. "I barely know him and he's going to hate me forever."

The tenuous bond between Nathan and Claire had not had much time to grow past an awkward friendship. And Nathan didn't forgive so easy, as Peter had found out several times.

Peter hauled his bag out of the cab and stuffed it into the back of the Porsche. "Don't look so sad. I used to drive this thing all the time without him knowing when I was in college. I know all the tricks."

"Really?" Peter loved the bright smile that spread across her features. "But, it's broken, it won't start," said Claire.

"Well," said Peter, opening the door and sliding into the car. "These 914's are notorious for vapor lock. They're made for modding, see…"

Claire looked at him blankly.

"Nevermind. How often did you try to start it?"

"Well, I tried like, a lot before I called you," said Claire.

"And the last time you started it was how long ago?"

"Um. Probably since I talked to you on the phone."

Peter looked at his watch. "That's been awhile. Let's try her."

Claire handed him the keys, and Peter tentatively tried the ignition.

The car revved to life instantly. Peter gave it a little gas, and Claire clapped her hands.

"Get in," said Peter.

"Oh, thank you God," said Claire, and skipped over to the passenger side.

They fastened their seatbelts, and Peter eased the car out of the parking lot. "You were flooding it, you ditz. Do you even have a license, Claire?"

She blushed. "Um, not exactly. I had a permit, in Texas."

Peter shook his head in mock-frustration. "You should probably cut your teeth on something less expensive. We could practice, if you wanted."

"No, I am never driving again," said Claire emphatically. "This was so horrible."

Peter grinned. "Then why did you want to drive this thing? You make no sense."

"I don't know! I was being dumb. No one was home, and I was bored…" Claire shrugged. "I don't know why I did it."

Peter steered the car onto the 495, accelerating rapidly. He'd forgotten how much fun this thing was to drive.

"Where is everyone anyway?"

"Some luncheon," said Claire. "I wasn't invited."

"It's almost four. I bet they're done and back by now," said Peter.

Claire's head dropped forward. "Crap."

He had a brief moment of guilt. He knew that he should probably tell Nathan what his daughter had been up to. Adult solidarity and all that. But he pushed it to the back of his mind. Claire looked so contrite, so sad. He'd do just about anything to take that look off her face.

"I'll cover for you," said Peter.

She gasped. "Really?"

"Yes, if you _swear_ to me you won't do it again, okay?"

"I swear! This was awful. I wanted to kill myself when the car wouldn't start," said Claire.

"You might have had trouble with that," said Peter.

She smiled, but did not speak. When she did, her voice was soft and a little shy. "Thank you, Peter," said Claire, from beneath her long eyelashes. "You always seem to bail me out."

"You're welcome," said Peter gravely.

"I haven't…had anyone I knew I could depend on in awhile," said Claire. "You've never really let me down."

"I never will." Peter didn't mean to speak so forcefully, and was a little surprised at how the words came out. He looked over at her quickly.

She was staring at him, giving him that 'Golly, I think you're great!' face that alternately made him feel like a very large person or very nervous, for some reason.

"I don't get why you went to Nutley, though," said Peter, changing the focus of the conversation.

"I wanted to see Rutgers," said Claire. "I'm thinking about applying there next year."

"Don't you want to go away for college? I thought you'd want to go away."

"Not really," said Claire nonchalantly. "It's nice to be close."

"It is. Plus it's a great campus." Peter hesitated. "I could take you out there some weekend. I know my way around the place."

"Oh, did you go there?" Claire asked quickly.

Yes, to see his girlfriend at the time, but he didn't think he needed to share that information at the moment.

"Nah, just had friends that went there," said Peter, pulling to the curb in front of his brother's house.

Nathan was down the steps of his building instantly. "Peter, what is going on?"

Peter looked at Claire significantly. Nathan had a sixth sense about that car.

"I, uh, wanted to show Claire the Porsche."

Nathan gave him a steady look. He'd long ago let Peter drive the car occasionally, but that's not to say that Nathan was happy about it when he did. "I thought you were in Detroit."

"Just got back," said Peter, and thumbed at his bag in the Porsche. Peter tossed the keys to Nathan.

Nathan caught them and gave his brother another long, suspicious look. "Huh. Okay. Well, glad to have you back. You coming in?"

Peter shook his head. "Nah. Too tired. I want to get back home," said Peter. "I'll grab a cab."

Nathan nodded. "Claire?"

She smiled at her father brightly. "I just want to say bye." Nathan nodded again and walked into the house.

"Are you sure you have to leave?" Claire asked a little wistfully, walking up to him and folding her arms.

"I'm sure," said Peter, as he smiled down at her.

"Aren't you hungry or something? I could get you something," said Claire.

Peter stuck his arm out for a passing cab, and opened the door of the Porsche to get his bag. "Isn't committing a felony enough excitement for you today?" asked Peter, laughing. He hitched his bag over his shoulder.

"Yes. Totally. I'm never doing anything that dumb _again_," said Claire.

Peter smiled at her softly. "Sure you will. Just be safe."

They looked at each other for a quiet moment, until the cabby impatiently honked.

Peter turned at the sound. "Well," he said, and started to step off the curb.

"Wait!" Claire walked over to him. "You saved me, again. Thank you."

She bounced up and brushed her lips against his cheek, balancing herself by lightly resting her fingers on his chest. It was so quick, so fleeting, that Peter wasn't sure if it had actually happened for a second.

Peter tried to speak but couldn't. He cleared his throat. "It's nothing, Claire. Anytime."

He threw the bag and himself into the car. He raised his hand at her from behind the glass window.

She raised her fingers in return. The sun glinted through her blonde curls, and she mouthed "Goodbye," at him as the car pulled away.


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Prep school should have been harder, Claire thought. All she ever knew about prep schools came from television shows – serious girls with thick books, uniforms with starched collars, and agonizing nights spent studying.

But Claire thought that Hamontree Prep was, in many ways, a lot easier than her old public high school. Maybe Nathan had done that on purpose. It seemed like they really held her hand - reminded her of due dates, couldn't do enough to help her study.

She'd had to give up cheerleading, but that was okay. At Hamontree, she enrolled in Drama for her extra curricular, and her teacher said that she was, really, very good.

Claire wasn't surprised. She knew how to play a part well.

The school play was _You Can't Take It With You_. It was a funny story, about a funny family. Claire played Essie, a ballerina who enjoyed making chocolates.

Claire wore a tutu and leotard for the whole play. It was pink, and puffy, and the tights were itchy. Every time she wanted to complain, she reminded herself that at least it was a longer tutu, and didn't stick straight out. And anyway she was better off than Emma Umberland, who had to wear a fur coat the whole time and nearly sweated to death.

Nathan, Peter, and her grandmother came to opening night. Heidi and the boys stayed home. Not enough tickets to go around, too many eager parents who wanted to see their children perform.

At the reception after the play, Nathan gave her a huge bouquet of roses, bigger by far than any of the other kids got. He smiled and shook a lot of hands, and circulated around the room.

Typical. A politician's work is never done.

Her grandmother sedately told her that her costume was too sheer under the stage lights, that she needed the ladies room, and that she was going to have someone pull the car around _now_.

Typical. Why had she even come?

Only Peter told her that she had done a fabulous job, that he had laughed at all of her jokes. He hugged her and she could see the play program tucked into his coat pocket.

Typical. She was so glad that he had come.

"Seriously, Claire. It was great. I loved the dancing," said Peter, and he grinned at her. They were standing by the wall, a little away from the throng of people in the reception room.

Claire blushed. "I felt stupid." She had on a thin black cardigan, but was still wearing her tutu and leotard, her hair tied up with a ribbon.

"Well, part of acting is feeling stupid, right?" said Peter.

"I guess. Doesn't mean I like the feeling though," said Claire, and she turned at the sight of a tall, thin boy who was walking backward toward her.

Gene Shollenberger bumped into her, and stood too close, like he always did. "Oh. Hi, Claire." His face was spotty, and his stage make up was caked a dark orange along his jaw line.

"Hi, Gene. Peter, this is Gene. He played Ed, my husband in the play." Claire gestured with the big bouquet of Nathan's flowers that she was holding.

Peter nodded at the younger boy. "How's it going, man."

Gene's face crinkled. "Is this your boyfriend?"

Claire tried not to look at Peter, because she knew she'd laugh. "No, he's my uncle."

Gene's face lit up. "Ah. Ah ha ha," said Gene, cackling hideously. "Okay. Well, are you coming to the cast party?"

"Yeah, I think I am…where's it at again?"

Gene scratched his nose. "Uptown. Amber's dad owns a restaurant. Do you need a ride? You can ride with me," said Gene proudly.

Claire's eyes darted to Peter. "Actually, my father can take me. Thanks though," said Claire, and she smiled at Gene.

Gene just stood there.

"Thanks… I'll see you there," said Claire a little more forcefully, and the boy finally left.

"I think it's great when art imitates life," said Peter sardonically.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he was your husband in the play, right?"

"You did _not_ just say that," said Claire, and she laughed. "Do you think Nathan'll mind taking me?"

"Nope. If he can't I can always drop you off. When do you need to go?"

"In a bit, but you don't have to take me," said Claire.

"I don't mind," said Peter.

"I'm sure you've got better things to do," said Claire, as she glanced at Nathan, who was on the other side of the room. "He didn't even say congratulations."

Peter nodded. "It's not that he doesn't care. He just…he doesn't know how to do this."

"I know. I know," said Claire, and she nodded, looking at her feet.

"Those are some nice shoes," said Peter, after a pause.

"Ballet slippers."

"I like 'em. You should wear them to school."

Claire rolled her eyes. He always teased her.

Peter cleared his throat. "I was going to bring you flowers, but I figured Nathan probably had it covered." Peter gestured to the large bouquet she was holding.

"That's okay," said Claire.

Peter jammed a hand into the pocket of his coat. "Anyway. I got you this. It's stupid, and you don't have to wear it."

He handed Claire a small jewelry box.

"Peter…" Claire looked up at him, couldn't keep the smile off of her face.

"Hey, don't get too excited. It's just a little something."

"You didn't have to do that, thank you," said Claire, still smiling.

"I'm serious, it's not much. Wait till you open it before you thank me."

Claire opened the lid of the box. Inside was a small figure made of silver looped onto a delicate chain.

She lifted the necklace out of the box. It was a tiny ballerina, wearing a tutu.

"Peter…it's so cute! I love it!" She grabbed him around the neck and squeezed. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome," said Peter, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

"Hold these?" She pushed her flowers into Peter's arms, and put her necklace on. She fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds before getting it.

"How does it look?" Claire stepped back and tossed her ponytail over her shoulder.

"I think it looks good, but I'm not the one who has to wear it," said Peter.

"That _would_ look pretty weird if you wore it," said Claire, taking the flowers back from Peter.

"It only matters if you like it, and you haven't even seen it on you yet," said Peter.

Claire leaned against the brick wall, and smiled at her uncle. "I already know that I love it."

Neither of them had a chance to say more before Nathan approached them. "Sorry about that, Claire. Are you ready to go now?"

Claire nodded. "Would you mind dropping me off at the cast party uptown? I can take a cab, if you don't want to."

"Or I can take her," said Peter to Nathan.

"No, no…no trouble," said Nathan, waving his hand impatiently. "Let's go now though, and try to beat the mob." He gestured to the crowded reception room.

Peter nodded. He was leaning against the wall, his hands tucked into the pocket of his pants.

"Are you coming with?" asked Claire.

"Nah, I need to talk to my mom before I take off," said Peter.

"Oh, okay," said Claire, as Nathan started to walk away. "Peter, thanks again, thanks for coming—"

"Of course."

"Keep up, Claire," said Nathan from behind her, and pulled her arm into the crowd of people.

"—And I love my necklace!" called Claire, as someone stepped in front of her, and her uncle was swallowed up, gone. Obscured by the mass of people.

She wondered, later that night, if he'd heard her.


	3. Part Three

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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"Stop that."

She giggles and ignores him.

She fusses with his hair, skims her hands over the back, pulls the two long pieces in front. Tugs on them like it's a toy.

"Are you through?" She's nudged onto the arm of the chair he's sitting in.

Finally he waves her hands away and walks to the hall mirror where he straightens his bangs.

He's been the good son and brother and had dinner with the family. But it's Friday night and now he's trying, attempting to get ready to go out with his friends. Peter doesn't have many friends. That's intentional. The few friends he does have are ones he's had since elementary school.

"Why can't I go out with you and Marky and Dean?" Claire pouts exaggeratedly.

"Because you're a kid, kid," says Peter.

"I'm not," said Claire quietly.

"Sure. What does your license say your age is?" Peter asks her jokingly.

She punches his arm. She's still a little sensitive about her lack of a license.

"It's not fair," says Claire. "I love your friends. I don't have any. Why won't you share?"

"Who's whining like a kid now?"

"I'm serious," says Claire, and Peter realizes that she is. She means it. She wants to go out with him and his loud, rowdy friends Marky and Dean.

He doesn't blame her; they're funny as hell, and the little she's seen of them is nothing compared to how fun they got after a couple beers.

Peter sighs and stands in front of her. She kicks his shin lightly with the point of her toe.

"You're 16, Claire. And you wouldn't pass for 21. You wouldn't even pass for 18. How would I get you into a bar?"

"Invisibility?"

"No."

Claire doesn't say anything, but the frown on her face lets him know that she _gets it_, that there's no way he can give her what she wants tonight.

She sighs, echoing his own. "Fine. But I'm not happy about it, and I don't think its fair. If we did stop aging, at least you're like, thirty—"

He tries not to bluster, but it's hard. "Thirty? Excuse me?" He pokes her shoulder, but she continues talking, like she never heard him at all.

"—I refuse to be stuck as a sixteen year old. I better keep growing," said Claire.

"Well, the year on the birth certificate won't change. I don't think you're in any danger of that," said Peter.

"You never know. Maybe Nathan will get it changed so I don't do anything embarrassing," said Claire.

Peter smiles sadly at her dark expression. "Well hey, that's the wrong way to go. Underage drinking seems to pretty popular with certain political families."

"Okay. Yeah, have a word with him about that," says Claire, back to her pouting. "You know what else isn't fair? Guys only get hotter the older they get. So you're going to stop aging when you look the best."

Peter doesn't quite know what to say.

Claire clears her throat. "So yeah. Not fair."

He finally twists out a retort, though he stumbles a bit at first. "So you think old men are hot? I could hook you up at my job."

She glowers at him. "You know what I mean."

He can't help but laugh. "Well Claire, tell me what to do about that? If I knew how to shut it off, I probably would."

"Liar."

Peter opens the closet door, and roots around for his coat. "Acting mad isn't going to make me take you with."

"Aw, come on!" Claire is back to whining. "Please! It's Friday night and I am freaking bored to death!"

"Go out with your friends!" Peter says exasperatedly.

" I don't have any," says Claire sadly.

"There is no way in hell that I believe that," says Peter.

"Why not?" asks Claire, and sinks lower into her seat.

"Because." That's all he says, all he can explain with.

"I love Marky and Dean," mumbles Claire as she puts her hand under her chin.

And boy, did Marky and Dean love Claire. A beautiful blonde who's smart and nice and fun to be around? He's known both of them since kindergarten and there's no way he trusts them around his niece, even though they both swear that she's too young for them.

"They aren't that much fun," said Peter consolingly. Which was a lie. They are very fun, but he doesn't want her to feel left out. "They'll probably just go to a bunch of bars for twelve buck beers. You aren't missing anything."

"A fake I.D.!" Claire sits up straight. "I need one."

Before he can reply, Heidi's heels clicked into the foyer. "Peter, I thought you'd gone," says Heidi, and she smiles.

"In a minute," said Peter. "Marky's coming by for me in a few."

Heidi nods, and her smile fades a little as she sees her stepdaughter. "Oh. Claire. I thought Sebastian would've been here by now."

Claire visibly strafes to the side. "Yeah, I don't know where he is."

Heidi checks her watch. "Well, it's nearly eight. I thought for sure he'd be here early."

Peter looks at Claire before turning to his sister-in-law. "Who's Sebastian?"

"Claire didn't tell you? Her little boyfriend," says Heidi, her fingers fluttering at his niece. "Follows her around like a puppy. Been out with her every night this week."

"Yeah?"

Heidi examines her fingernails. "Nice family. Really popular boy. Big group of friends, not that Claire needs to be spending any more time outside of this house and not on her homework."

"Huh," says Peter, rocking back on his heels and looking pointedly at his Claire. "No friends?"

As Heidi's footsteps trickle away into the kitchen, Claire frowns. "Oh, so what. I'd still rather go out with Marky and Dean."

"Sebastian? Interesting name," says Peter

"He's French."

Peter nods his head. "Nice boy?"

"Yeah." Claire sounds defeated.

"Do I get to meet him?"

"I guess. If you want," says Claire.

"How about tonight?"

"Um, I think I should prepare him beforehand, don't you think?" asks Claire.

"Why? Does he need a briefing?" asks Peter. His eyes grow wide. "You didn't tell him about…our family, did you?"

"God! Of course I didn't," says Claire tersely. "He has no clue."

"Then I can say hey before I go, right?"

"Why do you want to meet him so bad?" asks Claire.

"Just do," says Peter, as the phone in his pocket rumbles. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end crackles before the call is lost. "That's weird," says Peter.

A loud horn sounded from outside the house.

"The boy honks for you? That's class."

Claire rolls her eyes as she crosses to the door. "Please."

Peter's this close to telling her to get her purse because she's coming with him and he'll sneak her into the bar, when he hears a thunderous Island accent outside the door.

"Peter! Get your butt out here," says Marky, and his voice echoes loudly off of the walls of the foyer when Claire opens the door.

"Oh. Claire. Sorry," says Marky, flashing his teeth at her.

Peter rolls his eyes.

"That's okay." Claire smiles at Marky. Marky's hair is slicked straight up and back on the sides in a real Hottigotti Island 'do.

"Alright, lets go," says Peter, and he puts his coat on.

Marky ignores him. "You comin' with us tonight, Claire?"

"Peter says I can't." Claire has a sour look on her face.

"Bummer. Whelp. Next time," says Marky as Peter walks toward the door.

"Hey do you care if we hang around a minute?" Peter asks.

"Hang around. Hang around? Dean's driving in circles, baby, we can't hang around. We gotta get into Dolce's before nine, when they double the booze. Come on," says Marky, and pulls Peter toward the street.

"God, okay." Peter turns to Claire, who is standing in the doorframe. "Guess I'll have to meet _Sebastian_ later."

"Uh huh," says Claire, smirking at him.

"Mr. Petrelli! I don't have a million bucks to spend while you idle my gas away," calls a bald man from the window of his car. Dean.

"Oh please, you live on Oyster Bay." But he goes. Peter gives Claire a little half-bow, making her laugh as he walks to the street.

"Hiya Claire," says Dean in a faux come-hither, wiggles his fingers at her.

"Hi Dean." Claire waves good-naturedly at the older boy.

"Too young for you. Too good for you," says Peter under his breath to Dean.

"Yeah yeah. I'm just admiring the view," says Dean, and waves some more.

"Shh, man that's my niece," says Peter, and slaps the back of Dean's bald head.

"And Claire, you ever need a fake ID, I can hook you up," says Marky as he gets into the back of Dean's car.

"Shut up," says Peter, but he's laughing as he sits down.

As they're pulling away, a boy with very blond hair parks a Bentley outside of his brother's house.

"Who's that twink," says Dean.

Peter watches as Claire hugs the boy, her figure retreating quickly in the rear view mirror. "I think it's her boyfriend."

"He any good?" asks Marky.

"Dunno," says Peter.

"Hope he's good enough for our little Claire," says Marky.

"Yeah. Hope so," says Peter quietly.

A/N - marky and dean are totally inspired by the members of the dsc. it's for life.


End file.
